


Subconscious Nevers

by quietx



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27926344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietx/pseuds/quietx
Summary: Every morning he wakes up to Kindaichi in the kitchen (Kindaichi never hits the snooze button, Kunimi always does), he puts a hand on his back, and he kisses him.[Five kisses shared between them, and one time they knew what it meant]
Relationships: Kindaichi Yuutarou/Kunimi Akira
Comments: 7
Kudos: 101





	Subconscious Nevers

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday celeste

Kunimi isn’t happy that he has to take a communications course. He’s in a software engineering course, but for some reason, he has to be here, learning three things about his assigned partner to write a short assignment on. 

Ruri is cute. She’s bubbly, small, her voice is high and musical. Akira doesn’t care about her; he’s just trying to get a passing grade. 

“Tell me about your boyfriend,” she says, and Kunimi blinks at her, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. He doesn’t have a boyfriend, and surely nothing about him visually indicates he does. She must take it as him not hearing her instead of him being baffled by the question in the first place, so she points to his phone. “Your lockscreen?”

He opens his phone again. Kunimi hadn’t thought about it much, but his background is a picture of Kindaichi from his last birthday. Kunimi thought it was hilarious. Yuutarou is laughing, and has frosting smeared on his face from an unfortunate prank. It doesn’t take much for him to see it from her perspective. It certainly _could_ look like he has a boyfriend. 

“He’s great,” Kunimi answers, figuring it’s not worth it to explain his relationship to a random girl who he’ll only know for one semester at most. “I’ve known him for a long time.” 

“That’s sweet. Does he attend here too?”

He answers every question she asks, and for some reason, it doesn’t feel as weird as he thought it would. He’s calling his best friend his boyfriend, and his conscience seems surprisingly okay with this little white lie.

It’s a week later when the thought resurfaces. 

He’s sitting across from Kindaichi on a Saturday morning. Kindaichi has practice later today, Kunimi has the day off. For now, though, they’re sitting here, eating cereal, idly chatting. 

“Classes suck right now,” he hums after he takes a bite of his food. 

“We’re only two weeks into the semester,” Kindaichi responds.

“I don’t like my gen ed courses.”

“Akira, it’s just a gen ed course. You don’t have to take it seriously,” Kindaichi laughs. 

Akira rolls his eyes, standing up and taking his bowl towards the sink. He pauses, beside Kindaichi, who looks up at him. 

Kunimi leans down, pressing a brief, barely-there kiss to his lips. “That’s why my grades are better than yours.”

Kindaichi stares at Akira as he rinses off the cereal bowl and spoon.

“What was that for?”

“I just wanted to.”

Kindaichi laughs, dry, but open. “Okay, Akira. Okay.”

***

It’s a habit, now. Every morning he wakes up to Kindaichi in the kitchen (Kindaichi never hits the snooze button, Kunimi always does), he puts a hand on his back, and he kisses him. Sometimes it’s on the cheek, sometimes on the lips. It’s always brief, a passing contact like when your hands brush with your friend’s on the sidewalk. 

Kindaichi doesn’t ever seem to mind. He leans down to close the small gap, and they continue on with their lives.

This feeling is new, however. It washes over Kunimi like he’s stepping into the shower, warm and overwhelming, running from his head to his toes. It’s comforting and familiar, but somehow new and different. 

They’re studying together on Thursday evening. They often do. Assignments are always due on Friday, so they sit together on their tiny, ratty apartment couch, laptops and textbooks spread across the coffee table in front of them. It’s rare that they talk at this time. They’re both focused, and oftentimes, they’ll both have headphones on.

Today, they’re sharing music. Soft instrumentals are playing at a low volume from Kunimi’s shitty bluetooth speaker as Kunimi reviews his English vocab and Kunimi goes over anatomy info for a quiz the next day. It’s quiet and peaceful, only soft sounds traveling through their apartment.

Kunimi sighs, looking up at his roommate. He’s concentrated, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what the papers even _mean_ let alone how to apply them on a quiz tomorrow. It’s not his most attractive look, with the oversized sweatshirt and messy hair and basketball shorts. But his jaw is still strong, and since joining a V league team, he’s put on quite a bit of muscle, and Kunimi can’t help but be overwhelmed by something like _affection._ This is his best friend, and they’ve both come so far.

It’s slow, the way he shifts, twisting to face Yuutarou, pressing close. He rests a hand on his shoulder and kisses him. This isn’t a brush of lips, or a fleeting contact, but a real, lingering kiss. Kindaichi makes a brief, surprised noise, but leans into it, moving his lips to fit firmly against his, dropping the packet of papers he was holding to his lap. Somehow, despite the flutter of papers, despite the awkward angle, and despite the strangeness of this tension that’s building, it’s soft. It’s comforting in a way Kunimi isn’t familiar with, and he’s sure Kindaichi feels the same. 

Kunimi pulls back, holding his forehead against Kindaichi’s for just a moment, their breath mingling, gratitude passing between the both of them. 

“You keep doing this,” he says, eyes flitting to meet Akira’s.

“You seemed stressed,” Akira explains, shifting away to sit beside him again, breaking the gentle, intimate contact. 

Kindaichi swallows and looks at him questioningly, but says nothing. He scoots closer to Kunimi, returning to his work.

If their fingers link together later, well, neither of them mention it.

***

Takahiro Hanamaki and Issei Matsukawa are the sort of couple that Kunimi’s mother likes to call “quirky.” He has never been able to decipher whether being quirky is a good thing or a bad thing, but as he stares at the engagement ring on Matsukawa’s finger, he assumes it must be good.

Makki had called Kunimi out of the blue less than a full day ago. They were going to be in town, they wanted to know if the four of them could meet up for coffee or lunch or something. Kunimi didn’t question the “they” (he assumed it meant Mattsun) and when he asked why they were in town, the answer was nonsensical. So, instead of asking for further details, he sent an address and a time. He and Kindaichi have light days on Thursdays, so meeting at 1 for coffee would be perfect. 

Kunimi shows up first, plopping into a booth near the windows, fingers curled around his mug of green tea for warmth. He holds it in front of his face for a moment, letting the steam warm his nose and cheeks. It’s chilly in late November, and he forgot to grab a scarf on his way out of the apartment this morning. 

Makki and Mattsun join him a few minutes later. Makki first, with a casual smile and sleepy eyes. 

“Yo,” he greets, sliding into the booth. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” Akira takes a sip of his tea, eyes following Mattsun as he sets a coffee on the table for himself and his fiance. 

“‘Fine?’ You know that’s a bad thing, right?” Mattsun comments with a raised eyebrow. “I’m surprised Akira Kunimi doesn’t have himself a hot college girlfriend.”

He rolls his eyes at the comment. “I’ve been busy. Finals are coming up.”

“Ah, Kunimi-chan, wouldn’t it be—“

“Sorry I’m late!” Kindaichi’s voice interrupts as he clamors to their table. He didn’t get coffee before coming to sit like the rest of them, but first sets his backpack down and pulls off his scarf. He lets out a breath and flashes a closed mouth smile at the three of them already sitting. “It’s good to see you two. It’s been a while.”

“Life gets busy, you know. Working and getting engaged and all that,” Hanamaki answers, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Hanamaki-san, you don’t have a job.” Kindaichi tilts his head to the side in confusion, and Mattsun snorts. 

Makki levels his partner with a look, but says nothing to him. “Are you going to sit, or just stand there, Kindaichi-kun?”

“Right! Right.” It’s a mindless motion when Kindaichi leans down and presses a kiss to Kunimi’s cheek. Kunimi even tilts his head so the angle isn’t as awkward. With the quick peck over, Kindaichi turns again to go to the counter to order himself some sort of absurdly caffeinated drink that he’ll only drink half of and give the rest to Kunimi. 

It’s only once Kindaichi is out of sight that Kunimi realizes the mistake he’s made. 

He’s not sure what’s worse: the grin on Makki’s face, or the words out of Mattsun’s mouth. 

“ _Busy,_ huh?”

Akira can feel himself blush up to his ears. “It’s really not what it looks like.”

“Yeah, of course. I kiss my friends casually all the time,” Makki says with a chuckle. 

Kunimi opens his mouth to answer, but he can’t defend himself. In reality, that _is_ what they’re doing. He’s kissed Kindaichi probably hundreds of times over the last few months without any chats of being anything more than friends—roommates. 

“We’re not dating,” is what he settles on. The words feel strange coming out of his mouth, and the way Mattsun clicks his ring on the table with every drum of his fingers is driving him absolutely mad. 

None of them say anything else until Kindaichi returns, but the looks sent his way were more than enough to make him feel judged. 

He barely hears the rest of the conversation that afternoon. Kindaichi doesn’t notice anything—Kunimi is normally quiet, anyway—but he’s suddenly uncomfortable with the pitying looks now being sent his way. 

Is he that pathetic for this? They’re just friends who kiss. Nothing is wrong with that arrangement. He doesn’t need their _pity_.

Makki hugs him before they leave for the day. 

“Friends don’t look at each other like that,” he whispers into Akira’s ear. 

He’s nauseous for the rest of the night.

***

Akira would be the first to admit that he’s a bit tipsy. He’s never held his alcohol particularly well, and he’s had more than enough shots to put him past the line of sober. But he’s enough in his own mind, that he knows his desire, his urge to kiss Kindaichi right now, isn’t something unique to this tipsy state. 

It’s been three months since he started giving those small kisses to Kindaichi. He’s aware, now, that he enjoys it, and that Yuutarou doesn’t seem to mind either. 

As soon as they’re back inside their apartment, he reaches up and cups Kindaichi’s jaw, tugging him down into a kiss. 

He hadn’t anticipated their instability, and he definitely hadn’t realized that Kindaichi was standing on one foot to pull off his shoe, and they both went tumbling to the ground. Kunimi lands on his ass, knees up and spread, Kindaichi between them. He has a hand on the floor to the side of Kunimi’s right hip, the other on his knee, their lips still pressed together. 

Kindaichi pulls back just briefly. “You okay?”

“I’m good.” He barely has the word out before Kindaichi has pressed up into the kiss again. Kunimi squeaks at the aggressive contact, but moves his hands up again to feel at the shaved sides of Kindaichi’s hair as their lips move together. His eyes slide shut and he can’t help but wonder why he waited so long to do something like this. 

Kunimi moans into Kindaichi’s mouth when he slides his tongue along the seam of his lips. Kunimi moves his hand to twist one hand into the longer strands of his hair, pressing even closer. It’s intoxicating, having Kindaichi’s tongue in his mouth and his hands on his body.

Is this what he’d been missing out on? Is this what having a boyfriend is like?

They stay like this a few minutes more, comfortable contact, slow kisses with what was definitely too much spit, but neither of them care. Their tongues tangle, their hands wander. The hand that once rested on Akira’s knee travels to his shoulder, his chest, his stomach, fingers curling into his shirt in a motion that feels something like yearning. Even Akira’s own hands start to move. He presses his fingers cautiously along the tendons in Yuutarou’s neck, then slides them to clutch at his bicep, until they migrate to his sides, gently moving up along them. 

It’s gone too far, he thinks. This is further than a kiss after a study session or a sloppy, drunken make out, it’s shifted to something tender and affectionate, and he’s really not sure he wants to think of the consequences of that right now. 

He pulls back, with some reluctance, pulling in a deep breath. Kindaichi chases his lips anyway, following the contact.

Akira places a hand on his shoulder, eyes still closed as he lets his breathing slow. 

“Good job,” he says, breathless, giving a nice, awkward pat to his shoulder. 

Yuutarou lets out a long, tense breath, untangling himself from Kunimi. “You too.”

Akira stands, and helps Yuutarou up as well, tugging him up by the hand. He sways a bit, and Akira can see the flush in his cheeks. He’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or because of the kiss, but he’s some kind of drunk as Kunimi tugs him to the kitchen for water. 

“Do you have classes in the morning?” he asks, drinking water from the glass, and then refilling it and handing it to Kindaichi. 

“I do, but none of them are mandatory attendance,” he answers, wiping some water that dripped to his chin with the back of his hand. 

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have stayed out so late.”

Kindaichi offers him a crooked smile. “I think it was worth it.”

***

Kindaichi often travels for volleyball. 

It’s expected, of course. You don’t get to be on a V League team without putting in the bare minimum of showing up to your games. During the regular season, it’s once every other week. Sometimes less, depending on how many home games they have. Yuutarou will disappear sometime before Akira gets home, leaving a brightly colored sticky note on the counter. Typically, it’s informational: an apology for leaving dishes undone, a reminder that there’s leftovers in the fridge, or an encouragement on an upcoming exam. Lately, he’s even been signing off with a heart. 

(Akira’s stomach flipped the first time he saw the sloppy, asymmetrical heart after Yuutarou’s signature. He adds that event to the ever-growing list of uncategorized feelings toward his best friend.)

This trip, however, is different. It’s tournament time, and he’ll be away from home and excused from classes for at least a week, maybe longer. Kunimi tried to get permission to tag along to his games, but he’s been absent a few too many times for his professors to let that much time slide, so he’s stuck at home for the week, watching volleyball games through his laptop. 

He feels like someone’s housewife, sleepily standing in the doorway in the early hours of the morning, wrapped up in too-large sleep clothes, waiting for Kindaichi to do final checks so he can wish him goodbye before he leaves. 

At last, he drops his duffle and backpack down in the entryway, slipping on his shoes. 

Kunimi, truly, had only planned on wishing him goodbye. Maybe giving him a hug—Kindaichi has always liked his hugs. But there’s this warm feeling, the one from when they were studying together, the one that lingered in his stomach after their sloppy, tipsy makeout session that he can’t seem to shake. The warmth of it fills his chest. 

Instead of a brief hug and a meaningful goodbye, Akira rolls up on his toes the slightest bit to close the gap between them to press a kiss to Yuutarou’s lips. He means for it to be just a peck, like the kisses they swap over breakfast. Akira is caught off guard, though, when Yuutarou’s hands reach to cup around his jaw, fingers curling against his skin, sucking on his bottom lip. 

Kunimi gasps into the contact, eyes squeezing shut as he gives into the sensation. The heat and moisture, the taste of minty toothpaste, his nose brushing Akira’s cheek.

It can’t last more than thirty seconds, but he feels like he’s been shaken to his very core by the time Kindaichi pulls away. He feels cold when the hands leave his face, and he’s sure his lips are shiny with spit. 

When his eyes finally flutter open again, it’s to another one of Yuutarou’s bright, lopsided smiles. 

“I’ll miss you,” he says, voice low, like he’s sharing a secret. 

“Yeah. Me too.”

Kindaichi gives a small wave over his shoulder before he exits the apartment, which Kunimi returns. 

The door clicks shut, and a cold front settles over their apartment. 

Kunimi successfully ignores the frigidity for two entire days. A full forty-eight hours without Kindaichi, without his smile, without his voice, without his companionship, without his cooking without—

 _Without his kisses,_ that ever-noisier part of his psyche cries out. It’s _that_ part that celebrates when Kindaichi texts him heart emojis and _that_ melts when Kindaichi holds his hand. That part felt isolated, at first, but he’s sure that it will consume him if he continues on like this. 

Akira doesn’t really want to know what that consumption will mean. 

After ninety-six hours—four days without Kindaichi—Akira’s stomach is always in knots and his chest aches when he checks his phone to see no new messages from his best friend. His fingers itch for contact, even though he’s never been a snuggler. He’s changed clothes three times now and none of his wardrobe is comfortable enough. Never once has he shared a bed with Kindaichi, but right now, _nothing_ sounds better than having his face pressed into Kindaichi’s skin. He wants to soak in the smell and warmth of home, and without him here, their apartment just feels _cold_.

On day six, Kunimi has to admit it.

Kindaichi sent him a text. A text with a heart at the end. A text of no consequence with a heart at the end. A text of no consequence with a heart at the end that made Kunimi’s heart _ache_ while warmth bloomed in his chest. 

He stares at the ceiling while he lays on the couch, text unanswered, phone on the floor beside him. 

_I’m in love with Yuutarou Kindaichi._

He wants to throw up. But even more so, he wants Kindaichi here with him. 

God, does he _want._ He wants to kiss him without excuse. He wants to hold his hand while they walk to the station. He wants to get drunk with him and not feel guilty for being handsy. He wants to lay across his lap while they watch V-League games. He wants to curl up in his arms and take a nap. He wants to introduce him as his boyfriend. He wants, wants, _wants_ and he never wants to stop wanting. 

Kunimi has a hard time sleeping, and he doesn’t reply to the text message heart. 

***

Kindaichi comes home nine days after he left, and Kunimi is sitting on their kitchen counter staring at the handle on their oven. He looks terrible, his hair unkempt, wearing an oversized pajama shirt and shorts. He only has one sock on and Kindaichi grows more worried with every observation. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he says in lieu of a greeting, stepping so he’s directly in front of him, reaching a hand up to feel Kunimi’s forehead. He doesn’t feel feverish, but his eyes are bloodshot and the dark circles under his eyes make it seem like he hasn’t slept at all in days. “Aki—“

“I’m in love with you,” he interrupts, eye contact intense, words sharp. 

Kindaichi simply blinks at him. He wants to respond, but he’s beaten to it. 

“I didn’t know until two days ago. But all of those kisses... _ all  _ of them. I meant it.” He takes one of Kindaichi’s hands in both of his own, and holds it close to his chest, forcibly taking the comfort he needs. 

“Are you serious?” Kindaichi asks, not in disbelief, but to clarify. 

“Deadly.”

There’s held breath between them. The air is still as their eyes don’t break from their contact, and neither of them try to move. 

It’s Kindaichi that breaks it, moving the hand not captured by Kunimi to tilt his chin up, latching his lips onto his. 

It isn’t a gentle peck like their morning kisses. It’s not a lazy movement during a study break. It’s certainly not like a tipsy make out. This is slow, and  _ hot _ . It’s the heat and warmth that Kunimi has so desperately missed for nine excruciatingly long days. 

He wraps his arms around the back of Kindaichi's neck, pulling him in closer as he licks into his mouth, humming with a feeling that’s something like joy, something like familiarity. He’s everything that Kunimi has wanted and missed and he can’t believe he’s been sharing half-assed kisses with the man he loves for  _ months.  _ He’s almost upset that he could’ve had the real thing this entire time. 

If Ruri had never asked him about his boyfriend, would they have gotten here? If Makki hadn’t teased him over “friend kisses” would he have realized what the warm feeling in his chest was? Would he have let Kindaichi fall in love with someone else before he even realized his feelings? If—

“Stop,” Kindaichi instructs, pulling back from the kiss. They share each other’s air for a held moment, warmth brushing over spit-slick lips. “You have me, Akira. You always will.”

He could cry with relief. 

Instead of crying, he presses up again, letting warmth—love, as he now knows it—fill his chest. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey come shout at me on twt @catomiomi i like rarepairs


End file.
